… Except it’s not,not really. This Brent Huff documentary from 2016 looks great on paper, purporting to look at the rockabilly subculture in all its sassy glory.
Instead, it focuses on the Viva Las Vegas convention, with lots of hipster types with sleeve tattoos, blue hair and brothel creepers. It’s colourful enough, and everyone looks fabulous of course, but for a film which aims to cast light on a whole fifties genre, mood and lifestyle, it falls short. It’s like Huff watched some later John Waters films, liked the aesthetic but couldn’t be bothered going any deeper.
So, while the “guys” play rock ‘n’ roll and buff their phallic Hotrods,the “chicks” do Burlesque and make-up: there are leery close-ups of said cars and ladies’ curves. Alan Partridge would be proud.
It’s pompadours, leather, Gretsch guitars and surf, the American Dream writ large. Everyone is saying how fun it all is, but it seems like a big fat capitalist parody of what was once symbolic of rebellion, freedom and individuality. Such is the way when trends become subsumed into mainstream popular culture- it’s all tequila sponsorship instead of DIY threads.
There’s absolutely no insight whatsoever on what rockabilly really is, or even its origins. One clip casually informs us that Black people invented the music (well, duh) but there aren’t even any clips of Sister Rosetta Tharpe, Chuck Berry or Little Richard to provide context, and most of the artists interviewed – from Jimmy Angel to Kandy K, Drake Bell to Doris Mayday- are white anyway.
Then, there’s the small matter of the use of the Confederate flag, which raises its ugly head on cars, banners and merch, with the white talking heads informing us that no, it’s not racist. Umm…well, that’s that settled, then. Phew.
Nuance is not a factor here: clearly, the very duff Huff fancied a little jaunt to chat up some Bettie Page types and take a holiday in something beyond his comprehension, because this is shiny, shallow and poorly conceived, adding nothing to the conversation. It’s the cupcake approach all the way, meaningless frosting, and too much of it. The one bright light, Japanese guitarist, Eitaro Sako, is cool though, and what a shredder.
Hit The North 